


Terrible Am I?

by NovelistAngel23



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Car Accidents, Drunk Driving, Ghosts, Inspired by Music, Limbo, M/M, bad 80s slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 15:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovelistAngel23/pseuds/NovelistAngel23
Summary: When Jean wakes up in the middle of the forest with no idea how he got there, he has no choice but to join up with the mysterious, chatty Marco and his dog named Fox to find a way out--but with shadowy enemies surrounding them and a forest that seems endless, making their way home might be harder than they expected.





	Terrible Am I?

When Jean awoke, all he could see was the tops of trees far above him. Black against a dark blue and starry sky. Around his head grass swished and tickled his ears, mussed up his hair. For a long time, he couldn’t move his body. Not to blink, or turn his gaze. Everything hurt so much, as if he’d been thrown to the ground and landed right on his spine.

But slowly, things came back to him. Thought first, then feeling. The pain subsided as he wiggled his fingertips and then slowly turned his head. He saw nothing but trees as far as the eye could see. Memories came slowest of all. He’d been driving. He’d been driving near a forest, up a long mountain road.

Drunk.

He groaned as he finally gained control of his hand. Lifting it up to rub at his face. It was a bad habit. A dangerous one, one his mother had begged him to kick many times before.

“What happened?” he muttered groggily to himself. Getting no answer but the wind, he strained to roll over onto his knees.

All around him, nothing but forest. He turned his head around and then his body, twisting in circles to find anything familiar. No road. No _car_. Not even a path.

Anxiety clawed its way to his lungs. Where was he? What happened? Had he gotten out of his car and hiked out to the middle of nowhere in a drunken stupor?

“Fuck, fuck,” he muttered, trying to steady his breathing.

It was fine. It was fine, he’d be fine. He’d gotten in worse scrapes before.

“No I haven’t,” he gasped, sinking into a crouch on the ground, holding his head between his hands.

For a long moment, visited by nothing more than the sweeping night wind, Jean hyperventilated and panicked. And then he closed his eyes. Took a very, very deep breath. And rose to his feet.

He picked a direction and walked. He’d read about surviving in the wilderness. No one was going to come looking for him out there. He’d gotten into a fight with his mother again and drove as far as he could without breathing a word to anyone. So staying still and waiting for rescue wouldn’t do him any good. His best bet was finding an exit.

Walk as far as possible and then make shelter, food, water. He could do this.

Hours later he was beginning to doubt it.

The moon hadn’t moved in the sky from where it peaked out through the trees. Mocking with its bright, steady spotlight. Fuck, he felt like he’d been walking for days, but the night was far from over.

Shivering, he wrapped his arms tighter around himself, glaring straight ahead. Though time seemed so languid and long, he wasn’t tired. It struck him as unnerving. How long had he been passed out on the ground for him to not be tired at all? What if he’d already been out there for days? His stomach wasn’t growling either. His tongue never seemed to go dry, and though he was chilly, he wasn’t really cold.

Lost in his thought, he didn’t notice the sudden change in the air until he saw the thing standing in front of him.

Not far ahead, a figure standing between the trees. Jean could barely make out its shape. Like a shadow, the figure seemed to shift as the moonlight flickered through the swaying trees. There were no eyes visible, but somehow Jean knew it was staring at him.

He froze in place, staring back at the figure. He knew it was there. This wasn’t some trick of the light. So what was it? Why wasn’t it moving?

Jean didn’t realize he was taking a step back until he took it. A twig snapped under his foot. The figure started to run.

Towards him.

He let out a shriek, scrambling backwards at first and then turning--just in time to see a wolf leap past him and at the figure. “Sic ‘em Fox!” a boyish voice shouted as the beast landed on the figure.

The black figure squirmed, never making a sound as the wolf barked and howled and snapped at it. And then suddenly it disappeared, leaving the wolf snapping at dirt.

It stopped then, whining a little and looking up at Jean. It was then Jean realized it wasn’t a wolf. It was a dog, with dark tawny fur and piercing amber eyes. They stared at each other until Jean heard someone jogging up behind him.

“Hey are you all right!”

Jean turned to see the speaker, a boy with fluffy, curly hair parted at the center and an intensely freckled face. He didn’t look much younger than Jean, if at all.

Jean didn’t answer as the boy came to a stop before him. The dog moved to stand guard at the boy’s side, coming up to his hip. “Uh, my name is Marco,” the boy introduced, holding out his hand to Jean.

Jean turned his gaze down to stare at it. He looked up at Marco again, realizing there was something off about him. His clothing was horribly outdated. Some ugly colorblock-style rain jacket and acid washed dad jeans. But it was more than just bad fashion sense. Jean couldn’t put his finger on it.

Marco slowly lowered his hand and looked down at his dog. “So um, what’re you doing out--”

Before he could finish, Jean asked, “What was that thing?”

Marco’s eyes went wide and then he sighed, looking away. “It’s um. It’s hard to explain. But the woods are full of them so you gotta be careful.”

Jean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wow, great advice. Stay away from the weird black figure things, no idea why, they just give me bad vibes.”

Jean didn’t want to admit he wanted to stay away from them for the same reason.

Marco looked a little confused, but he seemed to understand the sarcasm at least. “Listen…” He looked around as if he were about to tell Jean a terrible secret. He leaned closer, looking up at Jean from under his lashes. “We shouldn’t talk out here like this. I know a good place we can hole up for the night, and it’ll be safer.”

He leaned back, looking at Jean hopefully for an answer. The dog sat down and looked at him too.

Jean looked around, but still he couldn’t recognize a thing. Nothing familiar. No path. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to continue along the route he’d been walking--not after seeing the black figure earlier. He shivered, not from cold, and looked at Marco again. “You know this forest?”

Marco smiled wide and shrugged, but his expression was more than a little smug. “I know my way around.”

Jean sighed deeply, rubbing his face with one hand again. “All right, lead the way.”

Marco’s eyes lit up, positively giddy. He whipped around. “Come on, Fox, let’s motor!”

Jean groaned to himself as he followed.

 

Despite the scent of food cooking over a fire, Jean still didn’t feel any twinge of hunger. He stared at the squirrel twirling over the flames as if it were a foreign object and not meat (of a sort). Jean had barely spoken since they’d started their trek to this large tree and clearing Marco had brought them to.

Marco however had a bad case of motormouth.

He’d talked about anything and everything. “So what’s your name? Where are you from? This is Fox, I’m Marco. I love walking at night, but it’s hard to see, and those things come out a lot more. You must be majorly brave! What was your name again? Oh yeah, you didn’t tell me, sorry!” His voice had become something akin to background music after a bit.

Now Marco was motoring off about something or other, and Jean barely heard it.

The longer he sat staring at the fire, the more his mind wandered. He felt something like a barrier there. Something straining against a wall in his head, screaming towards the memory side of his brain. He could see flashes. Fire burning. A sickening, oily scent trailing down the dirt and grass towards his face. He couldn’t move.

“So it’s Jean, right?” Marco asked, surprising Jean out of his thoughts.

Jean blinked at him slowly, realizing there was a squirrel on a stick being held out to him. He hesitantly took it and nodded. “Jean.”

Marco smiled, leaning back and sitting cross-legged next to the fire. “I like that name. Sounds French.”

“It is.”

“Radical!”

Jean looked down at the food, his appetite still not quite with him. He looked up at Marco again, who was smiling at him, empty handed. “You’re not eating anything?”

Marco turned red and looked away with a shrug. “Eh, I’m not hungry.” He made a face. “I have like the tiniest stomach.” He wrinkled his nose and smirked. “Besides, squirrel is like… tooootally grody, dude.”

Jean grimaced. God he hadn’t heard anyone but his mother say grody before. At least not unironically. Finally he set down the food. Fox jumped on it in an instant, with no protest from Marco. “I think I want some answers now,” Jean said, not even glancing at the dog.

Marco frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jean raised a single eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Don’t play dumb. Where are we? Who are you? What are you doing out here? What are those _things_?”

Marco sighed, looking at his hands twisting around each other nervously. “Um… In order?”

Jean didn’t dignify that with an answer, crossing his arms and waiting.

Marco finally nodded, biting his lip. “Um, well, we’re in a forest.” He sighed and whispered to himself, “Duh, Marco, he already knows that…” He sat up straighter, holding onto his ankles. “Okay, I’m Marco Bodt. I’m 17--but I’m gonna be 18 in two months!” He seemed pretty proud of that fact. “Um, a-and the things, I call ‘em Look-A-Likes.”

Jean raised both eyebrows this time. Marco smiled a little. “Because they look like weird shadow people. But some of them have these weird green glowy eyes? Those are actually the good--well the better ones. They don’t chase you. They just kinda stare at you. The all black ones though, I try to steer clear of them. Luckily, Fox here can sense them!” Fox looked up at the mention of his name and was rewarded with a pet between the eyes. “He’s a good boy, never barks and growls unless one is nearby. And they’re totally scared of him so they always run away.” Marco looked up at Jean, and his cheeks turned pink. “S-so if you stay with us, you’ll be safe from them.”

Jean didn’t reply, still staring at Marco. “What are you doing here?”

Marco sighed, leaning back on his hands. It was clear he’d skipped the question on purpose. “Well I’m looking for my big brother. His name is Victor!” His expression twisted as he looked at his lap. “I… I think he got lost. He, um… He told me he was coming back, but it’s been a while, and he’s still missing. He’s not very outdoorsy, yknow?”

Jean could tell there was more to it than that. He didn’t have a chance to demand the whole truth, because then Marco was excitedly leaning towards him. “What about you! How did you get out here?”

Jean felt his face drain of color. He still didn’t know. He didn’t really want to admit he couldn’t remember because he’d been blackout drunk. It was humiliating.

His mother was right. Being an alcoholic was only fun when you were drunk. Every other time sucked.

He crossed his arms and shrugged, deciding a white lie was the way to go. He’d perfected those. “I don’t remember. Woke up in the forest, trying to find my way out.” Before Marco could ask more questions, Jean lasered him with a piercing stare. “You said you know the forest. Can you lead me to the exit?”

Marco’s face turned pale this time. Jean realized immediately what that meant. “You’re lost.” Marco shook his head, but Jean only groaned, hiding his face in both hands. “You’re fucking lost--”

“Hey, swear jar dude--”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Marco looked properly taken aback as Jean glared at him. “We’re lost in the goddamn woods, no idea where the exit is. We could die out here, do you understand that?”

Marco shook his head, his lips trembling. “N-no, it’s fine, trust me! There’s no like bad things in the woods, I-I mean other than the Look-A-Likes.”

“What about hunger, Marco?” Jean snapped. “What about infections? What about dehydration or hypothermia? What about your dog turning on you and mauling you because he’s fucking starving to death?”

Fox whined in protest. Marco sniffled as a tear dripped down his cheek.

Suddenly the wind seemed to pick up, a chilling breeze that made Jean feel like his very bones were made of ice. Marco sniffled again and then angrily wiped at his tears. The wind died as soon as it had started. “Ugh, what’s your damage!”

He shot to his feet, turning away from Jean to look out across the clearing. “Look, I don’t know where the exit is, but I know this place really well.” He pointed out into the forest. “There’s this cabin near a river a little way from here. Probably a couple hours. It’s like a hiker’s respite?” He turned to Jean looking pretty damn proud of himself with his hands on his hips showing off the high waist of his pants under his jacket. “I’ve passed it a couple times and there’s a trail there, so we should be able to find our way out from there.”

Jean didn’t answer for a bit, at least until Marco let out a loud, “UGH,” and threw his hands in the air. “Is that not good enough for you?”

Jean finally sighed, leaning back against the tree. “Fine. It’s a start.”

Marco smiled, plopping onto the ground again, leaning back against the tree next to Jean and Fox. The dog put his head on Marco’s thigh, big enough to dwarf the skinny thing. As he pet him, Marco said, “Nothing starts without ending.”

Jean hummed at that, looking far above at the stars in the sky. The moon still hadn’t moved. Marco shuffled and rustled beside him. He glanced over again to see Marco curled up against Fox’s side, almost dwarfed by the big dog, which had taken to staring at Jean. He sighed and hesitantly reached to pet Fox’s head, between the eyes like Marco had before. The dog’s huge tail began to wag, and he closed his eyes.

Jean watched Marco sleep. The moment he tried to close his eyes, he felt pain again, heard something like fire crackling. His whole back felt stiff and moving it felt like cracking bones against steel. He opened his eyes as fast as he could and didn’t sleep after that.

 

“Victor has this totally bad car! It’s big and bright red, with this awesome wheels?” Marco chattered away as he walked ahead of Jean, Fox walking obediently beside him. Jean had to admit the guy looked comfortable out there, walking along fallen trunks and easily making twists and turns through the trees. At least he wasn’t lying about knowing the forest.

But that scared Jean even more. How could he know the forest so well and never have found an exit? Did he not remember walking in?

Had he woken up out here just like Jean?

The sun had never risen. Somehow, even though hours passed and Marco had woken from slumber, the moon stayed in its place far above them both. Yellow and glowing against the starry sky behind the trees. It was unnerving to say the least.

Jean had chosen to ignore it. Who cared? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding the house, finding the trail, finding the exit, and getting out of the damn forest.

He tried to remind himself of that as they made their way through the woods.

Before long, he found himself walking beside Marco, Fox trotting along between them. “What’s your family like?” Marco asked, smiling at Jean hopefully.

Jean, arms crossed over his chest as he walked, shrugged. “‘S not much,” he muttered. “Me and my mom. And my stepdad, but he’s an asshole so he doesn’t count.” He looked at the ground as he walked. “No siblings. My grandparents are dead. Mom doesn’t like her siblings, so no aunts or uncles or shit.”

Marco looked sadder and sadder the more he spoke. “That sounds so lonely,” he murmured.

Jean just shrugged again without answer. It was fine. It wasn’t a big deal.

He didn’t really have friends either, but Marco didn’t need to know that.

“We have a huge family. Victor and I, I mean. And Fox!” Marco smiled, dancing a little as he walked. “Yeah, there’s Mamá, the twins--Rosa and Carmen. There’s my baby sister, Anna, and the oldest sister, Gladys. Then there’s me, then there’s Victor. He’s the oldest of all of us.” He smirked as he said, “I’m the second oldest, so I’m like, totally a big deal.”

Jean nodded. He wasn’t much older than Marco he’d realized--a year or so--but Marco was just so… pure? No that wasn’t the right for it.

Looking at him, Jean could tell he had never been a punk like Jean. He’d never been the schoolyard bully. He’d never been the drunkest kid at the party, he’d never been an asshole just to be an asshole. Marco was a good guy. Marco was proud to be a good guy.

Jean burned with jealousy over it. “Must be nice,” he muttered in response as Marco continued on.

Marco stopped to grin at him. “Yeah, it is! Victor went away for school, but he came back for a visit a couple of days ago. He took me out riding in his car, and we decided to hang out in the woods like old times.”

Marco stopped there, his voice going quiet and his eyes glazing over just a bit. Jean waited for him to continue, to no avail.

It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. “So that’s how you got out here?” Jean asked. “To the forest? You came in with Victor?”

Marco looked up at him, his face turning a little pale. “W-well--”

“Then why wouldn’t you know how to get out of here?” Jean demanded. “I mean, just come back the way you came. You know the forest like the back of your hand don’t you, there’s no way you can’t just go back where you came--”

“This forest is different,” Marco interrupted, and though his voice was hushed, Jean could hear it, and he stopped to stare.

“What?”

Marco shrugged, looking at his shoes and kicking at the dirt. “It’s like… it’s different, okay? From… from the one I walked into with Victor.”

“I don’t get it,” Jean muttered, completely at a loss. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Marco shrugged slowly. “It’s… I mean… the trees are… different. Sort of? I don’t know… I just… I remember the trees were darker, I guess? The leaves and the bark… and there were lots of nice little creeks and more animals… This one is different.”

Jean shook his head slowly. “Then how did you get here? What are you doing here? Why are you looking for Victor here if--”

Fox began to bark.

Marco’s expression turned dark as he turned to see what Fox did. Behind them a whole row of black figures had manifested. All of them had green eyes.

Floating in their heads as if they weren’t quite sure where they were supposed to be, the green eyes stood out in the darkness. Trails of the glow streaked into the darkness around them. Marco grabbed Jean’s arm, pushing him back behind him. “S-stay calm,” he insisted. “These ones don’t attack. As long as we stay calm we should be fine.”

“W-what?” Jean snapped. “Just send your dog--”

“No!” Marco hissed. He reached down to grab Fox’s red leather collar. “No, there’s too many of them. They might hurt him.”

He finally turned his gaze from the Look-A-Likes. “Listen, the cabin is close by. We can make a break for it. I don’t think they’ll chase us, but we have to be fast, okay?”

Jean shook his head at him, his breathing picking up as panic set in. He didn’t want those things to touch him. Just looking at their eyes, he could smell the fire, hear sounds like crunching metal in his head, scraping against that wall in his brain. He shook his head again, breathing heavily, and then whispered, “Fuck it.”

He grabbed Marco’s hand and turned to run.

They stumbled through the forest, holding hands tight. There was rustling behind them, the crunching of leaves, the snap of twigs that said they were being chased indeed. Fox barked and snarled, but Marco’s grip on his collar kept him from attacking.

Before them the cabin began to rise through the darkness. The sound of a river rushing and crashing downhill caught Jean’s ears as they neared the wooden building before them.

Still Jean could hear the sounds in his head, too loud to ignore. The screech of tires on asphalt, his own voice screaming in horror. Metal, metal crunching and scraping through his brain. Shattering glass.

Marco began to cry beside him. The wind picked up, but through it Jean could hear Marco saying, “No, no, it’s not Victor, you’re not Victor--”

The wind whistled and blew colder than before. Jean dared a glance back, seeing the Look-A-Likes starting to slow down. He turned back to find the cabin right before them. He rushed Marco up the steps, turning as the wind whipped around him. Freezing cold, like winter and snow. He walked backwards up the steps, watching the Look-A-Likes stop and stare at him too. They stood stock still as he edged towards the door. None of them moved.

Then slowly they began to disappear. One by one. Until only one was left. At that point, Jean felt Marco pull him into the house. The door shut, and he didn’t know if the Look-A-Like disappeared too.

 

Neither of them talked for a good long while. Inside the cabin, they found some snacks--though Jean still wasn’t hungry and Marco didn’t seem so either. They also found blankets, hot chocolate, and a sizable fireplace. While Jean started the fire, Marco audibly thanked God that the hot water was working and made the hot chocolate.

They curled up on the rug before the fire, drinking the hot chocolate in silence. Marco petted Fox very slowly, whispering, “Good boy,” every now and then without much thought.

After a while, Marco finally spoke. “The Look-A-Likes have never chased me before. Not the ones with eyes.”

Jean sighed, putting down his mug and decidedly not looking at the fire. “Thought you said they were harmless.”

“I thought they were.” Marco’s eyes filled with tears.

Jean cursed at the sudden chill in the room, grabbing the poker and stabbing at the logs in the fireplace until it roared anew. “Well, you were wrong.”

Marco sniffled and curled his knees up to his chest, hiding his mouth against them. “Victor’s still out there,” he whispered. “Do you think they… do you think they’ve hurt him? H-he doesn’t have Fox to help him. Maybe they already caught him.”

The cold in the room just seemed to get worse and worse, but Jean barely noticed, realizing Marco was right. For all they knew, Victor was long dead. After all, Jean doubted he himself would have survived his first encounter with those things, much less the crowd of them they’d just escaped.

But he looked over at Marco, seeing his big brown eyes shiny with tears, and he knew he couldn’t just say that.

He hesitantly reached out and touched Marco’s knee. Marco looked up at him with those big eyes, his mouth still hidden behind his knees. “Hey, he’s your big brother, isn’t he?” Jean shrugged a bit. “I… I don’t know a lot about siblings but I don’t know. They’re supposed to be stronger than you and all that bullshit. So. He’s fine.” He smiled. “I bet he’s even found a way to fight back all on his own!”

Marco sniffled and nodded, looking back down at his shoes. But he reached up to wipe the tears away. He slowly pulled his face from his knees and smiled sheepishly. “You held my hand.”

Jean felt his cheeks turn red. “What?”

Marco smiled a little. “W-when we were running away. You grabbed my hand.”

Jean scoffed, turning back to the fire. “So what?”

Marcos’ expression turned softer, a little nervous, and vulnerable too. “Just. Noticed it.”

He stood up at that and walked towards the small beds pushed into the corner of the one floor cabin. Fox, head resting on his paws, turned his eyes to watch Marco go and then looked at Jean almost expectantly. Jean raised his eyebrows at the dog in silence. _What?_ he thought as if the dog could read his thoughts. _We were running away! It’s not a big deal._

He tried not to think about it when he followed Marco into sleep a couple of hours later. As he laid out in the bed, drifting unconscious, his brain was suddenly overcome again like before with those brutal noises. Jean was trembling with the pain. His leg was searing. In the dream, he lifted his head to look and found it shredded. He couldn’t see beyond it. Long, deep gashes ripped down his entire leg. His jeans practically scraps.

He shot awake and found Marco awake too, staring at him. He stared back at Marco through the darkness. Somehow, when there was no light whatsoever to shine on Marco’s face, his brown eyes seemed to glow. Jean swore they glowed green, but he knew it was his imagination, knew he was still paranoid about the Look-A-Likes from earlier.

“What?” he hissed at Marco, who shuffled deeper under his covers.

“You were… having a nightmare,” Marco whispered. “You sounded like you were in pain.”

Jean blinked at him slowly. “Yeah,” he admitted at length. “Yeah, it was… It was bad.”

Marco nodded, curling the blanket close to his face. He looked away for a moment and then his glowing eyes settled on Jean again. “Do you… Do you want to share a bed?”

“What?”

“I just mean, b-because I know whenever my sister’s have nightmares I let them sleep in my bed. It just makes them feel safer, b-because they’re not alone and because--” He paused his yammering and sighed. “Because I sorta… had a nightmare too…”

Jean barely hesitated. He opened his covers, and Marco shot over, scrambling to cuddled under the covers too. His body was cold beside Jean’s and stock still with nerves. Jean sighed, settling in to go back to sleep. “Listen,” he murmured, “I get you’re like having a gay panic or whatever--”

“W-what, no I’m--”

“But this is gonna get real uncomfortable real fast unless we spoon or something. This bed is tiny.”

Marco went silent, looking up at Jean in the darkness. Then slowly he turned onto his side, his back pressed against Jean’s chest. “I’m not gay,” he murmured. “That’s like totally--”

“Just go to bed, Marco,” Jean whispered, one arm going around Marco’s waist and pulling him close against him.

A couple minutes later, Fox realized he’d been abandoned and managed to lumber on top of their legs. Curled around Marco’s body, Fox curled around Jean’s, the nightmares had no room to squeeze into Jean’s head.

 

The Look-A-Like was gone when they headed out again. “See this is the trail I was telling you about,” Marco said, keeping a safe distance from Jean as they walked.

Since they’d woken up he’d been blushy and nervous around Jean. It was kind of cute. Kind of annoying.

Kind of flattering too. People didn’t often have crushes on Jean.

But he had other things to think about.

Like why those nightmares were happening, and the noises that came with them. Why he’d woken up in the middle of the forest--and even about Marco, there were more important questions to ask. Like how he was still clearly keeping part of his story secret.

Jean wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. He didn’t want to make Marco angry. He was his only guide in the forest--and also Jean just… didn’t want to lose him.

As they followed the trail--a thin little thing that winded through the trees--he tried to formulate a plan to lead into the conversation easily. Victor was the key, he knew.

“So…” Marco looked up as Jean spoke, his cheeks red with anticipation. “Um… how did Victor… get lost?”

Marco’s face fell. He looked down at the forest floor as he walked. “He’s not really good with outdoors stuff. He’d tell you an oak tree looks the same as an evergreen.”

Jean shook his head. Avoiding the question again. “Oh, I gotcha,” he muttered. They walked silently for another moment before he continued, “I just mean, how did you guys get separated, you know? He doesn’t seem like the type to just abandon you.”

At least, he hoped he wasn’t. From the way Marco talked about him, he seemed like the best brother in the entire world.

Marco didn’t respond, walking silently. Jean bit his lip, anxious for an answer--any answer. “He didn’t abandon you, right Marco?”

Marco shook his head slowly, “No, of course not.”

There was silence again, and irritation bubbled in Jean’s throat. Goddammit, how hard was it to just tell the truth?

But then Marco surprised him. “He went to get help,” he whispered.

Jean stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Marco shrugged, looking very much like a petulant child. But Jean could tell it was more than that. Not petulant--guilty. “He um… something happened and--”

“What happened?” Jean interrupted. He tried not to groan audibly. Could he sound any pushier or what?

Marco’s shoulders trembled a little. “It’s not important--”

“Marco.”

Marco looked up at Jean and started in surprise when Jean touched his arm. “I just… want to know if what happened to you might help me remember… how _I_ ended up here.”

Marco nodded slowly. “I… fell,” he whispered. “D-down an embankment. It was totally huge. L-like, I thought I’d fallen down a cliff. I just kept rolling and rolling. I hit the ground really hard. I-I think my head landed on a rock? Everything went really blurry. I… I heard Fox barking for me, a-and then Victor.”

Marco’s lips trembled just as the wind whistled around them, cold as ice. “H-he was staring down at me all terrified. He said, ‘Stay right there. I’m going to get help. Don’t get up, Marco, don’t move, I’m going to get help!’”

Marco stared at the ground, a single tear dripping down. Jean felt the sudden cold pinprick of snow on his cheeks. He looked up in shock. It was near mid summer, nowhere near time for snow.

“He said, he was going to get help. I-I… I don’t know what happened after that. I totally blacked out.” Another tear dripped down Marco’s freckled cheek. Marco looked up at the snow starting to fall too. “W-when I woke up, I was here. Fox was right next to me. I figured Victor was probably still looking for me, or looking for help. I need to show him that I’m fine.”

Jean shook his head, staring at Marco. “That’s… not it, is it?”

Marco sniffled, his eyes going wide. “What?”

“I mean, that’s not why you want to find him.”

Marco sniffled again, and shook his head. The air was frigid. “What are you talking--”

“You feel guilty,” Jean whispered.

Marco went very quiet and looked down at his shoes. “I… I’m the reason he’s missing. He told me not to walk near the edge. B-but I’d done it before, so I thought I’d be fine. N-now he’s lost in the forest all alone, b-because I didn’t listen to him, and I fell, and I got hurt. It’s my fault.”

Jean reached out and touched Marco’s cheek, turning Marco’s head towards him, though he wouldn’t raise his eyes. “Hey. That’s not your fault. You made a mistake Marco.” Jean let out a sigh, taking his hand back and crossing his arms. “W-we’re just kids,” he whispered. “We make mistakes. Stupid mistakes. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Marco shook his head, wiping at his tears. “It does when your mistake hurts someone else,” he muttered. “It does when someone ends up lost or scared or hurt because of you.”

Jean gritted his teeth. He could practically see his mom’s face, twisted up with tears as she realized Jean had been driving drunk again. It was a stupid mistake. She didn’t deserve the pain--he didn’t deserve to--

Fox began to bark.

They both whipped around to the source but too late. The Look-A-Like had already began running towards them. This one was all black, no eyes in sight. Marco screamed in surprise as it reached them and opened a wide mouth full of teeth.

Before he could react, the Look-A-Like leapt at Jean, hands going around his throat. They fell back into the dirt, and sudden searing pain shot up through Jean’s body, starting from his leg all the way to the back of his head. He screamed and struggled as the blackness of the Look-A-Like engulfed him entirely.

He was driving. A bottle in his hand, almost finished. The roads were so empty, a winding mountain path, next to a forest that encroached on the road. He just wanted to be alone. He just wanted to not think. He took a swig from his bottle, choking on the burn, and then as he lowered it--

A deer, a jerk of the wheel. The car flying off the road, the bottle shattering against the car door. The sting of glass and alcohol against his arm and face--the crunch and scream of metal as the corner of the car slammed into a tree.

The windshield shattering as he flew through it, glass, glass, rain, rain. Fire all around him, his body crunching and cracking as he rolled through the grass and hit another tree right against his spine.

He weakly lifted his head. His leg was shredded. Around him small fires had caught from the sparks of scraping metal and oil was beginning to flow through the grass towards his face. He fell limp in the dirt.

 

Jean awoke with a gasp, feeling a cold wipe pressed against his forehead. The memories. The memories, he understood them now.

“Are you okay?” Marco whispered.

Jean’s eyes focused, meeting Marco’s concerned gaze. He didn’t know what to say. The memories were swirling around his head. He could barely breathe. He couldn’t think.

“The Look-A-Like, it attacked you… I thought you were dead… it covered you up and you were screaming… and then it disappeared and you were unconscious--”

“I’m dead,” Jean whispered.

Marco stared at him in surprise, eyes wide. “What?”

Jean felt his eyes burn with tears. “I’m dead,” he said again, louder this time. He slowly sat up, and then he shook his head. “I was in a car accident, Marco. Before I was here. I was in an accident--and the car was about to explode. I died, Marco. I’m dead.” He looked up at Marco, and horror settled into his throat.

The embankment. The fall. His brother running to find help and never returning. “You’re dead too,” he whispered.

Marco shook his head slowly. “What are you talking about?”

Jean shook his head too and grabbed Marco by the shoulders. “I’m fucking dead! I died in a car accident in the woods. You fell to your death in the middle of the woods. That’s why we’re fucking here! That’s why you haven’t found the exit, because there isn’t one!”

Fox made a whining noise, and Jean looked down at him. He realized suddenly why Marco had woken up with Fox--maybe the dog had stayed by his side until he died too.

“Oh my god,” Jean breathed.

He looked around wildly, finding himself back in the cabin. He whipped off the covers and stood up. “I can’t fucking believe this,” he breathed, pacing the room. “It explains everything, oh my god.” His eyes filled with tears, and his throat felt sticky with the need to shed them. “Fuck… I’m fucking dead. I’m fucking dead.”

Marco rose from the bed too, shaking his head and hesitantly walking towards Jean. “You can’t be serious, Jean. Why--you can’t be dead, Jean. I-I can’t be--” He paused and shook his head. “No, Jean, you’re acting crazy. I-I haven’t found the exit because I haven’t been looking for it--”

Jean laughed, realizing suddenly what it was he’d found so off about Marco in the first place. He whipped around to him, laughing at the surrealism of it all. “Marco, what year is it?”

Marco blinked at him in confusion. “It’s… it’s 1983, why--”

“It’s 2018, Marco!” Jean screamed. Marco looked taken aback. “It’s 20-fucking-18! You’re dead! You’ve been dead for over 30 years!”

Marco shook his head, backing away from him. “You’re starting to wig me out--”

Jean pointed at Marco, his finger nearly stabbing him in the face. “Like that! Nobody fucking says that anymore, Marco! Don’t you get it? Don’t you get it! You didn’t get knocked out, Marco! You fucking died!”

Marco’s face burned red, a desperate expression on his face. “I-I can’t be dead, Jean, how would I be here talking to you if I were--”

“I don’t know! Maybe we’re in limbo or something. Maybe we’re in hell!”

Marco gritted his teeth, and Jean could see tears starting. “I’m not dead, Jean, y-you’re losing your mind!” He stomped closer to Jean. “B-besides, Victor would never let me die--”

Jean growled in frustration. How could he not get it? This whole fucking forest was unnatural-- _super_ natural. The Look-A-Likes, the endless night, the reason neither of them ever felt hungry, the reason there was no exit--they had to be dead. Places like this didn’t exist in the normal world. “You’ve combed every goddamn inch of this hellhole, and you haven’t even found a trace of him, Marco. You’re fucking lying to yourself.” He stomped forward too until they were barely an inch apart. “Your brother didn’t save you. You died. He left you to die! He never got help! He never came back for you! Just fucking accept it--”

Marco burst into tears. “No!” he screamed.

And suddenly the entire room filled with a frigid gust of air. Marco screamed and sobbed. He stomped and grabbed his head. And as he did, the room became colder and colder. The wind turned into a snowstorm, swirling around him as he cried. “No, no I’m not dead!” he screamed. “I’m not dead, I can’t be dead! I need to see Victor! My mamá, my sisters! I’m not dead!”

Fox barked and whined through the snow. Jean felt himself blown back with the storm, and he threw his arms over his face to shield his eyes from the haze. He couldn’t see through it. It was like a desert of snow.

He needed to calm Marco down. The snow was too much, he was going to hurt Jean, Fox--himself. Jean couldn’t let him hurt himself.

“Marco!” he shouted into the snowstorm, still hearing Marco’s sobs echoing from the center of it. “Marco, listen to me!”

As he forced his way further in, he searched for Marco’s form. He called as loud as he could, praying to be heard over the whistling wind. “You’re going to hurt yourself, Marco! You’ll freeze, you have to stop crying!”

Fox’s barking came closer until he and Jean met in the snow. He grabbed hold of Fox’s collar, dragging him along as he searched for Marco. “Marco, please!” Jean screamed. “I--I know you’re scared. I am too. But m-maybe if we find the exit, maybe… maybe we’re not really dead! Maybe we’re in limbo! Maybe there’s still a chance!”

Marco’s sobbing didn’t slow or stop. But Jean found him cowering in the center of the snow. He trudged up to him, curled into a tiny ball as he cried. Making sure to hold tight to Fox’s collar, he knelt in front of Marco, and then went down to his knees. He used his free hand to take Marco’s face and lift it to his. His eyes were glowing bright green, but Jean could still see the dark brown underneath. Glistening with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Marco sniffled. He reached up to wipe his tears, and as he did, the wind began to die. As Marco took his shaky breaths, and Fox rushed to lick at his face, the snow dissipated until they were all sitting curled up together on the floor in the center of the cabin.

“I’m sorry,” Jean whispered again. “I… I didn’t… I shouldn’t have said that to you. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

It felt so strange in his mouth, the words too much, too full. He’d never said them before. Not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that meant anything.

In his entire 18 years of life he’d never fucking said I’m sorry and meant it before.

Marco just sniffled and then suddenly, he hugged Jean. His arms around Jean’s neck and his face tucked into the crook of it. “You were a major dipstick about it, but… you’re right…” He leaned back and rubbed at his eyes again. “You’re right. I’ve been… I’ve thought about it before. But it’s so scary, I told myself it was bogus…”

Jean reached out to take Marco’s hands in both of his. “Maybe there’s… still a chance, Marco.”

Marco shook his head, looking up at Jean. “For me? Y-you said… you said it’s 2018? I… I d… I _died_ in 1983… There’s no way I can just c-come back--”

“Well, you’re still here,” Jean whispered. “Maybe that means… this place is like outside of time or something.” Jean squeezed Marco’s hands. “Listen, we have to try. We have to try to get out of here.”

Marco’s lips trembled. But he nodded. And smiled.

 

They agonized over any possible exit they could find. The trail only led to more Look-A-Likes. The forest never seemed to thin no matter where they looked. The moon ahead was still high in the sky and casting its yellow light wherever they went. No way to follow that home.

Finally, after hours, Jean threw his hands in the air and said, “Why don’t we just ask the fucking Look-A-Likes!”

Marco sighed, staring at the fire for a long while, Fox curled up across his lap. He gently pet him, and Jean watched his hand move, until suddenly his hand paused in its stroking. “Well.”

“What?” Jean muttered, leaning back in his chair.

Marco twisted away from the fireplace, causing Fox to grumpily shift off his lap. “Why _don’t_ we just ask the Look-A-Likes?”

Jean stared at him, his expression reading completely unimpressed. “Wow. Genius.”

Marco hummed. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He rolled his eyes, “I’m sooo sure, right? But think about it.” He turned around completely, hands on his ankles. “The fully black one, when it touched you, it made you remember how you died. Like… you relived the memory. Maybe… maybe the ones with eyes… maybe they’ll make us remember something good?”

Jean didn’t know how to tell Marco that his eyes glowed green too. He had a feeling he knew what the Look-A-Likes really were.

“What’s the worst that could happen,” Jean muttered. “We die?”

Marco winked. “That’s the spirit!”

“That was bad.”

“Good bad, right?”

They made their plan, Marco much more enthusiastic before, and Jean with fear in his heart. The last time, he’d been transported back to his death so vividly. It had felt like dying all over again. He couldn’t bear the thought of going through it another time.

But he knew, deep down, there was no other choice. They had each other and Fox, and if none of them could figure it out, the only other option was the Look-A-Likes.

Holding hands tight, the two stepped out of the cabin, Fox close behind. “Just stay calm,” Marco told Jean, echoing what he’d told Jean when the group of Look-A-Likes attacked. Jean smiled wryly at the thought.

As they walked, Jean felt Marco’s usually cold hand turn sweaty with nerves. He didn’t say a thing, only squeezed Marco’s hand tighter, earning him a soft, shy smile. It wasn’t long before Fox began to growl. They took a deep breath together and turned to face them.

Jean couldn’t tell how he knew, but the group of Look-A-Likes watching them now were the same they’d been chased by before. There were seven of them, three on either side and one in the middle, with brighter eyes than the rest. _Older_ , Jean thought unbidden. _It’s been here longer. Since before Marco._

It inclined its head at him, and he tightened his grip on Marco’s hand. “We… we want your help.” He swallowed hard. “We need your help.”

The Look-A-Like seemed to nod and then turned around and began to walk away, back towards the cabin. Jean and Marco shared a look of confusion and followed.

It took them past the cabin. It took them through the path. Jean heard again the sound of rushing water. The river from before. He hurried to keep up as the Look-A-Likes floated silently through the woods. None of them walked, almost as if they had glitched. They moved seamlessly across the ground never moving their legs. It sent chills up Jean’s spine.

Soon they made it to the river. The oldest Look-A-Like turned to them, surrounded by the others again. Slowly, it lifted its arm. The others followed suit. Pointing across the river. The oldest Look-A-Like suddenly opened its mouth, and in a strange, raspy voice, whispered, “One.”

Marco and Jean shared a look. “What do you mean, one?” Jean asked, his voice shaking as he looked at Marco. At his glowing eyes.

The Look-A-Like only repeated it. “One.” Jean realized it couldn’t say anything else. It had probably taken so much energy to say just that.

Marco started to smile sadly, but Jean gritted his teeth. He let go of Marco’s hand and whipped around to the oldest Look-A-Like. “What are you fucking talking about!” he shouted. “Look at that! We can’t even cross the river!” He pointed at the rapids, choppy and unpredictable. He’d die trying to swim it. “And even if we do, the forest just continues along the other side! There’s nothing there!”

But he knew there was more to it. Something burned in him at the thought of just one of them getting across. He needed to yell, he needed to scream. He needed the burn.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that was why he was in that goddamn forest in the first place. Because he still needed the burn.

He’d send Marco in a heartbeat. Marco deserved it more. Marco was the only one with any good in him.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to see Marco who reached up to wipe away--

A tear.

Jean sniffled and shook his head. “W-we can’t cross,” he choked, feeling the tears fall down.

Marco smiled sweetly. “ _I_ can’t cross,” he whispered.

His tears fell too. And suddenly around them, the wind whipped up, frigid like ice. The Look-A-Likes all disappeared at once as a blizzard began around them. Stinging cold and immense. Marco held Jean’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m going to miss you.”

He leaned up and kissed Jean, his lips soft and freezing cold. Jean closed his eyes, arms going around Marco’s waist and lifting him close to his body. As they kissed, Marco’s lips trembled and the snow came down harder, like hail or sleet. Marco pulled away and wiped Jeans’ tears again.

“Jean, please don’t cry,” he whispered. “You’re… you’re just a kid.” He smiled shakily. “You make mistakes. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Jean shook his head, smiling bitterly. Hearing his own words back against him hurt more than he’d expected. “What if I hurt someone though?” he answered, his teary eyes meeting Marco’s.

Marco smiled softly. “That’s what apologies are for. That’s what growing up is for.”

Jean’s lips fell open in surprise, but then Marco pulled out of his embrace and pushed him. He was starting to cry again, harder and harder. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, shoving Jean until he fell into the river--or onto it. It had been frozen solid in Marco’s snowstorm. “I’m sorry, Jean. I hope I see you again!”

Jean shook his head, shooting to his feet and running for Marco. “No, I’m not leaving you here!” But there was a barrier now, separating him from Marco. He couldn’t break through no matter how hard he slammed his fists against the invisible wall. “Marco! Marco, I can’t leave you here!”

Marco shook his head. The wind began to blow at Jean, so wild and strong that Jean couldn’t fight against it. His feet skidded across the ice, forcing him towards the other side. Marco raised his hand to wave. “Jean!” he called. “Don’t forget me! In the real world, please don’t forget me!”

As Jean watched, Fox began to howl, and Marco turned darker and darker, like a shadow. His brown eyes became green and glowed through the darkness.

 

Jean woke up groggy and in pain. Above his head, a woman leaned over him. The moment his eyes opened, hers went wide. “Stop, stop, he’s awake!” she shouted.

“What?” someone gasped.

“That’s impossible, he died five minutes ago--”

Jean blinked stupidly at her. Sounds coming back. There was a blaring siren going in and out of his head. He felt like he was going to throw up. Flashing colors. There was something around his neck--something strapping his head back to the table he was laying on. “What…”

“Sir, are you aware what happened to you?” she asked and began checking his vitals.

He struggled to remember. All he could think about for a fleeting moment was…

“I… crashed my… car…”

“Good, good, that’s exactly right,” she said, very slowly and precisely. “Sir, can you tell me your name?”

He blinked for a long time, trying to find it in his head. “Jean… Kirschtein… Where--”

“You’re in an ambulance, sir,” the woman said kindly. She turned back to the other two working to take vitals. “Give him some pain meds, we have a long drive.” She looked at him again and gave him a soft smile. “Is there anyone we can call for you, Mr. Kirschtein?”

Jean felt his eyes begin to fill with tears. He tried not to cry. He knew it would hurt. “M-my mom,” he whispered. “I-I want my mom.”

 

At the top of the trail, the morning sun shone bright overhead. Jean took a moment to bask in it, stepping up to the highest point and turning his head to see deep into the forest. All around there were nothing but trees, but somehow from that vantage point, the whole thing seemed so small.

He took a long swig from his water bottle and leaned back, hearing a familiar bark from behind him. “Fox, over here boy,” he whistled, his dog trotting up to him through the leaf-littered ground. He wasn’t quite as big as the dog he remembered from years before, nor did he look like a wolf. Still, the name was fitting and brought Jean comfort on long hikes like this.

He sat down at the edge of the cliff looking out onto the rest of the forest, petting his dog and scritching behind his ears. These days he liked to go hiking every chance he got. Whenever he was stressed, it made all the worries melt away. He wished he hadn't taken it for granted back then. He wished he'd figured it out sooner. He glanced down at his prosthetic leg, the only physical reminder of the accident that changed his life. Maybe if he'd figured it out...

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No, no. That was the past. There was no use dwelling. He’d apologized, he’d grown.

He hummed as the wind blew cooler around him, making him shiver. Despite the cold, it felt… comforting. He looked up, wondering if it would snow, and as he did, a smile came over his face. He reached out to give Fox another soft pet, between his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten, Marco,” he whispered into the air. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a loooooong time since I wrote jeanmarco, it feels like coming home a little bit. I wrote this based on the song Blue Ridge Mountains by Fleet Foxes! I've been thinking about writing it for a while, and I'm so glad I finally sat down to get it done =DD I hope you guys like it, please leave kudos and/or comments if you enjoy the story, and if you want to ask questions or anything, you can contact me at novelistangel.tumblr.com!


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